Tired Green Eyes
by Mucada
Summary: This time he finished the song, and I was filled with such sorrow, grace and gratitude for something I could not place." Remus-Tonks.


Title: Tired Green Eyes  
Author: Mucada  
Rating: PG  
Disclaimer: JK's, not mine  
Summary: "This time he finished the song, and I was filled with such sorrow, grace and gratitude for something I could not place." Remus-Tonks.

888

He's the warmest chord I ever heard  
Play that warm chord, play and stay, baby  
-joni

888

The music sounded throughout the old manor, echoing down the corridor and into the kitchen, where I sat, attempting to set coffee to brew. It was morning, not early, but not so late that visitors would be coming and going. I had not yet dressed, and I didn't at all anticipate starting the day. I was in one of those moods, where I wanted to just hang around the house, not going anything. But the music came in, and I paused from adding another scoop of ground French Roast into the old muggle brewer.

At once I noticed that it was genuine, not from a turntable. A simple acoustic guitar, quick chords dancing in pattern to form the beginnings of a song, which was one I recognized yet could not name, something I probably heard once. The music stopped abruptly, as the player tapped a hand against the quivering strings. Quick, simultaneous plucks with a finger: the fine tuning of the instrument. I knew at once that it was a certain friend of mine, a floor above me, sighing without a thought other than the hollowed wood of the guitar vibrating against his hip. I could picture Remus very clearly, sitting on the sagging couch in his study, dim light filtering in from the dirty upstairs windows. Who else, for the house was abandoned.

The image was so vivid, as if I was in the dusty room with him, sitting in front of him. I wanted to accentuate my mind's picture, and the only way possible was for me to hop up the stairs to find him. I left the coffee unfinished in the kitchen, and I moved through the parlor as quietly as I could. For once, I made no noise, because I had not thought about it. I concentrated on the source of music.

The hallway, not so long this morning, was filled with the loud, bold strokes of Remus' guitar. I just realized that I never even knew he played the guitar, or any instrument. I realized that it was only certain that he did, being far more musically inclined than anyone else I knew. He was a connoisseur of old records, and held a collection greater than any I have ever seen, outside of a music shop. His specialty was in folk rock and "classic rock" as many muggles called it. Little about all of this was known to me, accept from the covers of his weathered records and a select few singers that I was fond of. The technicalities meant very little to me.

I opened the door to the study, the handle so loose I feared I would remove it from the door. At once I became aware that my presence was least expected, if not unwanted. Remus turned around, face first shocked. He then smiled at me, saying that he hoped that he hadn't woken me up. I told him that I had been downstairs, in the kitchen. He cringed, imagining me in the kitchen. I looked smug, telling him that it was me who was making his morning coffee, and that he better be grateful. He only smiled that contagious, sexy smile. Before he turned around, I noticed that his eyes were still green, even in the bad lighting. Usually the colors of people's eyes changed in the lighting, but his had not.

"I had no idea that you played the guitar, Remus," I said, venturing in from the doorway. I felt uncomfortable talking to him while standing out of his line of vision, so I moved to sit on the messy coffee table in front of him, being mindful of the mugs and ashtrays. At once, right before he answered, I realized how I spoke, like his big secret, having musical talent was some sort of disease he neglected to mention, like his lycanthropy.

"I learned when I was 16," he said to his hands, as he played soft random chords, his fingers moving in positions that appeared so natural to him. My eyes moved from his hands to his face. Something was so incredibly gentle about him, as he sat there, unfazed by anything other than the placement of his fingers on the frets. Peaceful soul.

"Play me something," I said, indicating the guitar in his lap.

"Anything specific?" he asked, looking up. Tired eyes still green, I noticed. I looked away, as if afraid, even though I wasn't. There was dust floating in the air, the morning light reflecting against it. I heard the guitar chords again. It seemed like his heartbeat that I wished I could feel under my hand.

"Something you like," was all I could say without sounding dumb. The random chords that he played out of habit soon took form to sound now completely familiar. Oh, he knew me well enough to pick up on my idiosyncrasies. I was never completely blind to muggle music. The intensity increased and decreased, like the tide, and his voice cracked once before he sang the lyrics, accent hoarse.

"Janis," I said, simply and quietly, with pride. I didn't want to disrupt him. Bobby McGee.

If it was any other man singing a song about a woman and a man, about washed out lovers, especially the narrator being a woman, I would have found it almost funny. But his voice barely rose above a low, hoarse whisper, and the singing and strumming was so gentle it almost brought tears to my eyes. He stopped halfway through, before the song began to pick up.

"I'm sorry," he said, smiling and tapping the strings lightly with his open palm, "I forget the rest." I hadn't even known that he knew Janis Joplin well, let alone liked her work enough to be able to sing and play it. I had only found one of her records in his collection.

I smiled, and he began to play "Kathy's Song." He messed up at one point, muttering and smiling nervously to himself before catching the tune once again. I would take his voice over Paul Simon's voice one any day. This time he finished the song, and I was filled with such sorrow, grace and gratitude for something I could not place. Neither of us said anything, and I motioned to move next to him on the couch, but he met me in half movement, his soft, beautiful lips against mine. Bliss filled me, and I felt like I barely expected this to happen, even though I had wished for this moment since the first time I met him three years ago.

His guitar separated us, and one of the buttons on my old shirt slipped against the metal strings. He smiled against my mouth, moving to break away from our awkward position in-between the couch and the table, but I touched the back of his neck, and I felt deja-vu, like I had dreamt this before. I probably had. Pushing the guitar away from our hips, Remus leaned back as I moved onto his lap.

There was nothing else I could think of, no moment in my life that felt more powerful than this.

888

A/N: This is part of my group of plotless R-T stories that feature the two together doing cute things. Yes, I continue to add to that collection, as you can see by my bio page. ;)


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